


Hellhole

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, demon rape, things could change as i write more, this is something new i'm writing so just be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey enjoys being alone in his room, lighting a few candles, getting relaxed and comfortable...and doing what others call "Satanic rituals". But whatever. Not even his sister can stop him from conjuring all manner of dark creatures from hell in his free time....actually that's pretty much how he spends most of his time. But then he gets a hold of something that changes things, and definitely starts to change him.</p><p>Or the one where Mickey is so obsessed with the devil and his minions, that he gets in waayyy over his head, and ends up waayyy under ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Mickey Milkovich liked to dabble in some dark stuff. He had a couple books on some ancient topics, and had maybe done a few…rituals, but it wasn’t like he was a full-blown practitioner of black magic or whatever.

And maybe he was really into Satan, but so what?

People would give him looks when he came strolling out of the shop that everyone deemed catered to devil worshipers, hands full of books that looked like they came straight from hell itself, but he wouldn’t even pay attention in his hurry to get home and do his… _work_. What he called work, others might call…summoning evil spirits, or marking his enemies for slaughter by creatures that people had nightmares about. It was just a hobby.

Like drawing beasts with wings, and listening to certain music backwards.

"One of these days you’re gonna end up in hell!" His sister would always yell outside his door when she was mad she couldn’t get to the bathroom. Mickey would just tell her to leave him the fuck alone and light another candle. Mandy just didn’t get it. No one would understand that he felt drawn to this stuff, and not just in the way a pubescent teen was drawn to the dark confines and blaring screamo of a Hot Topic. It was more like he felt like he was almost being…pulled? Dragged was probably a bit dramatic, right?

Whenever he was working, it was like he was taken over. Yeah yeah, a person drawing chalk patterns on the wood surfaces in their room and pricking fingers for blood being possessed? No Way! Mickey scoffed because that was totally something one of his brothers would say. They probably had at one point, laughing when they caught him muttering in a corner with tears running down his face because sometimes he got so filled with all kinds of emotions that he couldn’t help it. Half the time he didn’t notice he was laughing or clenching his fists in anger until a bang on the wall snapped him out of it, or something inside of him sank back down.

Now Mickey was obsessed with this one thing he came across in one of his books. It wasn’t actually a part of that particular book, but a torn page stuck in the middle. It didn’t even look like the same kind of paper, and it looked much older and dirtier. He carried it around folded up in his pocket, pulling it out more than once in a day to read it again. It intrigued him. Yeah he’d read about this kind of stuff before, but the way it was written…it was more like a page from a manual than just talking about it in general. The more he read it, even touched it, the more he felt that familiar feeling of being…controlled.

And it had been steadily increasing.

He tried to ignore it and do his usual non-committal stuff, but it seemed his attention was always split. He’d get easily distracted and forget what he was even doing. His heart rate would pick up and he’d feel a weird sort of heat deep in his stomach. Not a lot, just a dull kind of ache that wouldn’t go away until he had it in his hands. But the relief would only last a minute, then he was right back to feeling like he wanted to do…something.

That something became apparent when he went back to the shop and asked the guy, Ryan, about it. He seemed just as eager as he did when he showed it to him. When he touched it, though, Mickey felt wrong. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d snatched it back in a fit of rage. Ryan was taken aback and he looked scared for a moment, as if he had seen something in Mickey’s eyes, but it passed and he went on talking. He left and came back with a black book and turned to a page that had a drawing of a candle and some words in a language he didn’t recognize. As soon as he saw it, he knew it was the candle the instructions called for, because that was what they were. Instructions. But for what, Mickey wasn’t sure, although he had a feeling. Either way, he had to have it. He needed it. He wanted it. Ryan said he couldn’t help him then, but that he would call if anything came in.

That was several weeks ago when Mickey had stormed out of there feeling like he wanted to swipe the guy’s throat out.

Now he was sitting on his bed, reading the page for Satan only knew, when his phone started to ring.


	2. The Wooden Box

"I got something you’ll be very interested in," Ryan said into the phone, as soon as Mickey picked up.

"It came?" Mickey sat up quickly and swung his legs to the floor.

"Yeah, man! Dude, this thing is sick. I mean, it’s the real deal."

Mickey’s stomach did a little flop and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He shivered even though he was starting to feel that heat inside him again. He reached for the paper that had fallen in his hast. He stared at it. It was almost like it was glowing, or somehow brighter. The words jumped out at him and made his heart beat faster in his chest.

"Yo, guy, you still there?" Ryan asked.

Mickey nodded, not taking his eyes away. He felt a pulling behind his navel.

"Mickey?"

"I’m coming." Mickey said and hung up. He bolted up and grabbed the first pair of jeans he saw on his floor and put them on. He shoved his feet into his shoes and pulled a sweatshirt over his head on his way out the door. It was like he was on autopilot, letting himself be lead to the shop faster than if he were actually thinking about it. Did that make sense? No it fucking didn’t.

He was pretty sure he almost got ran over by a car at one point, but he would have dragged himself the rest of the way if he hadn’t been lucky. Or maybe he was just meant to make it there in one piece and all potential interference was taken care of by some outside force.

Jesus, what did he have for breakfast? Pure sugarcane? Crack?

He finally got there and found the shop locked when he tried the door. He banged on the glass when he saw Ryan coming from behind the curtain that lead to the back. He came and let him in, almost being knocked over.

"Where is it?" Mickey demanded. Demanded? Really? Yeah. That thing was his.

Ryan recovered from the odd harshness of his request then told him to follow him. They ended up in the back of the shop, staring down at a wooden box with carvings all along the side and a giant lock in the shape of a skull with wings. It reminded Mickey of something he saw in the cover art for one of his favorite bands, which he believed was entirely plausible considering the things they sang about…or rather eerily whispered about like they were trying to have sex with her ears.

"Want to do the honors?"

"Huh?" Mickey hadn’t been paying attention, so he didn’t know if the guy had been talking to him the whole time or just then. His eyes had immediately fixed onto the box and he couldn’t pull them away. If he tried, the heat in his belly would swell and get uncomfortable. He looked at what Ryan was holding out to him and realized it was the key. He half expected it to be shaped like bones, but instead it was a claw. He didn’t question it, he just took a breath and put it in. When he turned it, the two halves of the skull snapped apart like it had been split open. Mickey found himself slowly reaching for the lid and carefully lifting it open. The hinges creaked a little and Mickey felt something roll down his spine. The wood felt good. Everything felt really good.

The candle was black like charcoal, but had silver running up half of it, depicting the same pictures that were on the box.

It was fucking beautiful.

"Dude," Ryan said next to him, but Mickey barely heard it.

He ran his finger all along the design. Even the wick was black.

Ryan tried to reach for it, but Mickey put it back in the box and slammed it shut, suddenly seething with anger. He thought he was going to screech like an animal. The vein in his neck throbbed, as he flashed him a look. He put his hands up and took a step back. He had that same look on his face like he saw something in Mickey for an instant.

Mickey picked up the box and put it in his backpack. He handed him the four hundred he swiped from his dad and got out of there before he did something. He didn’t know what.

When he finally got home, he slammed the door to his room shut and locked it. He quickly took the box out of his bag and hid it with the rest of his stuff in the very back of his closet under a pile of dirty clothes.

He sank down to his knees and fell to the side, laughing hysterically until there were tears coming out of his eyes.

What was wrong with him?


	3. Black Wave

Mickey had everything set up. It was late, and it was dark in his room except for the bunches of candles he had lit all around his room. The smoke detectors had stopped working in their house ages ago, but he didn’t exactly care if it just went up in flames. He didn’t enjoy living here with his dad and siblings. It was a shitty place to call home.

Especially the part where his dad got so drunk, he forgot he loved his kids.

Mickey took the candle from the box and set it on the floor in the middle of the pattern he’d drawn with chalk. He was in the hallway that lead to the bathroom because his floor was tile for some stupid reason, like it shouldn’t actually be a bedroom. And unlike the countless other designs he’d drawn with regular white chalk, his piece of paper called for black. He’d always wanted to use it, and not just because he paid one-fifteen for it. And no, that wasn’t a dollar and fifteen cent.

He still had black smudges on his fingers and his face where he’d accidentally scratched an itch. He had the hood of his sweatshirt up like how he always liked to do these things. He made sure all the various items were in place, checking over the page again.

It was like there was something in the air in his room. He didn’t know if it was all the candles suffocating him, or the weird mixture of herbs he’d had to burn into ash. He’d probably say he was totally fucking high, if it were for the intense grounded feeling he had. There was a buzzing in his ear and his face tingled the closer he got to finishing up the preparation.

If he was going to do this, he had to do it now. It wasn’t anything special about the date, but the time had to be exact. It took Mickey a long time to figure out what the "hour of play when the day goes away" was, but he had his watch set to it and he hoped beyond hope it was right.

He suddenly felt scared.

There was a weight on his shoulder and his neck got hot, then he found himself reaching to light the black candle.

A flame caught instantly.

It wasn’t the way his lighter sparked in his hand, that scared him.

It was the fact that all the other candles had been blown out and that he sat in total darkness…yet, he could still see. It was like he was sticking his head under water.

He took a few breaths and it was hard. His chest was tight and the dull burn in his stomach turned to a roaring fire. He clutched at it, feeling something moving. He lifted his shirt but couldn’t see what had touched his hand. He thought he was going to have a heart attack, but his heart was beating way too slow, and it was getting slower. He patted all around him looking for the page, but it was gone. He wasn’t even sure he was still in his house sitting halfway between rooms. All the sound had been sucked out of wherever he was.

Something black and gooey started to come from the candle. At first he thought it was melting wax, but it was too shiny, too glossy and wet-looking. It kept spreading until it was filling the pattern and then it started growing.

Mickey wanted to scream. There was something inside the mass of tar forming in front of him, but he couldn’t move away. He couldn’t even move his body, it felt heavy. Whatever was in the liquid was now towering over him like a giant wave, and he thought he saw eyes, but he was afraid to be right.

That wasn’t even the worst part.

The black goo creature surged then came towards him too fast to react. It came crashing down on him, filling his nose and his mouth and his eyes and even his ear.

Sharp pins and needles rushed down his orifices, filling his throat until he couldn’t breathe. It was thick and like swallowing tacks. The stream was endless, as it blackened out his senses and drowned him. He couldn’t stop it, it just kept coming.

It tasted like blood and it smelled even worse.

Something was roaring. It felt like it came from inside him and above him at the same time. It was deep and rolling and made Mickey’s insides boil, as they continued to be filled. He was going to burst for sure. He felt the weight of it making his organs expand past what they were supposed to.

This was it.

He’d done something wrong.

He didn’t even remember anything he had done before, though. None of it was in his mind when he frantically searched for some step he’d missed or fucked up that would explain why he was being pumped full of death.

Was that what it was?

He couldn’t think how he suddenly knew that because it was just there like a memory. It wasn’t his own, but it felt like it.

He wasn’t sure of anything, and yet he felt like joining in the angry laughter that was now directly in his ear.

His eyes moved slowly to the side and he saw something large filling his peripheral, staring back at him. Somehow he could tell it was grinning at him, although all he could see was darkness…and red eyes.

It growled deeply, lapping hotly against his face. The sound reverberated down his spine and it….it seemed to hit him in his…

He felt his body giving out. His conscious was being smothered quickly, but he couldn’t shake the intense arousal that struck him without warning. And it had a tight hold on him, plucking seductively at him like a talon on a harp string.

He felt so much pressure. There was too much. He could feel all of his nerve endings going off all at once, causing an overload in his system.

Like he was about to jizz.

He got right up to the edge, and he could feel every inch of his body, as it writhed on the floor. He heard himself gasping, realizing the black stream had stopped.

The last thing he saw was the dark shadow of the creature standing above him with fiery eyes, watching him explode into a million pieces.


End file.
